


The Tightest Knot

by limey_limey



Series: In Chains [3]
Category: Original Work, Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:55:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25736905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limey_limey/pseuds/limey_limey
Summary: When desperation is all you have, is it enough to overcome the righteousness of another?
Relationships: Gabrielle/Xena
Series: In Chains [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866925
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third part in a series and will make no sense if you have not read The Binding Tie or The Strongest Bond.

Vertebrae popped loudly, cracking like a gunshot in the silent room. Gleefully looking around the men and women who cowered beside her, she let out a maniacal peel of laughter. A flinch went around the room like a wave, further elevating the blond’s mood. Cold brown eyes swept over her companions, assessing them, noticing their strengths and planning on how to capitalise on their weaknesses.

Fear was almost a living thing; people huddled together for comfort. It was obvious who had been freed and who had been owned. The free were more than just afraid, they were terrified and soft! Cracking her knuckles, Thorn began to plan; she couldn’t wait to be back in the barracks preparing for battle. The smell of sweat and blood in the air had never failed to stir her!

Three months after Dettore’s edict and things were moving swiftly. First the free; they had been rounded up like cattle. Over zealous members of the public had clamoured to help shop their neighbours. Many people who had never been a part of slavery had been reported to the collection crews and had to fight their way out of internment. Dettore’s new policies had found support from many other states where the freeing of slaves had always been banned. He continued to ride high in the poles with seemingly little opposition.

After dealing with his major cause, the young senator had decided to repatriate all of the privately owned slaves to ensure that owners were treating them appropriately. This had actually been something he initiated only days after his election by keeping any private slave who was in a programme in custody. His plan was simple, reassess them and those that seemed to have too free time with their owners would be retained by the state.

As keen as private citizens had been to help round up the free, they were resentful of parting with their property. These fears had been appeased by a fast turn around in assessment and now things were moving smoothly along. However, many slaves had been confiscated; the merest hint of relaxed attitude and the owners were instantly banned from any further slave purchases.

Now, with things well under way and as an act of faith, Dettore had handed his sole property over to the programme. Thorn was under no illusion that she would be going back to the senator’s home; she was back where she belonged.

Stalking to the end of her chain, she growled, scaring a young couple who leapt back from her. Not the only member of the group to be chained to the wall she was certainly the most alert and the most frightening. In her incarnation as a gladiator she had been infamous and from the look in the terrified young woman’s eyes, she had seen her exploits.

Pounding feet from outside the holding cell caused the room to grow more silent, if that was possible. People held their breath as they waited for the arrival of the wardens, not knowing what would come next. The rhythmic pounding stopped and the sound of keys jangling replaced them.

Seeing the door slide open to reveal a phalanx of grey uniformed men, several women feinted. Thorn let out a whoop of glee as the eyes of the lead figure turned to her. Rattling her chains above her head, like some victorious champion, she waited for them to come and get her. Peripherally aware that the other three fettered slaves were also being approached she felt a sweaty palm close over her wrist and force it down so that the links connecting her to the wall could be detached. Now only held by handcuffs she began to walk out of the room, ensconced between two uniformed men. Sadistically she waved and blew kisses to those who would be left behind. Time to get started!

######

Strolling down familiar corridors, Thorn made her way through the gladiatorial barracks. Not jest any barracks, these were the barracks where she had lived and fought. This was home. Navigating the familiar terrain with ease she found herself in the common room which, at this hour, was crowded with warriors milling around.

Noticing a group of familiar faces seated at a corner table she zeroed in on them. Snaking through the throngs of people, knocking hapless novices out of the way and sharing casual nods with acquaintances, she found her way to the table. Three heads rose to fix distrustful gazes on the newcomer. Never a shrinking violet, Thorn broke the standoff.

“Nashville Neddy; you not dead yet?” Her words were playful but her tone was icy cold.

“Thorn,” sounding more tremulous than he wanted to, the big man cleared his throat before going on. “So the rumours were true; the bitch is back!”

“Too damn right, cowboy! I want my gang back!” It was a clear challenge.

Belly laughs broke out around the table, the men clearly in disbelief, having forgotten the blond’s destructive wrath. Their mistake! Thorn lunged across the table, shattering Ned’s jaw in a brutal upper cut. A bottle smashed. Shards scattered over the table, one snatched into an opportunistic hand and thrust into the throat of the man grabbing at her from the right. Flipping across the table to land on her feet beside the remaining man, she quirked a smile at him and waited. The silence was punctuated by the snorts and grunts of pain floating up from the floor.

“G…good to see you back, boss!” Gulping, the heavily scarred man took a shuffling step back.

“Ah, Whale, nice to see you haven’t developed a backbone!” Slapping him spitefully on the chest she revelled in his wince as two guards dragged the fallen men away without comment.

“You wanna go see the others?” Like any place of incarceration, the bowels of the arena cradled gangs; Thorn controlled one such group.

“Nah, big guy, take a seat. Tell me who else is back in town.” Spinning an over turned chair back to its feet she settled gracefully.

“Sure,” Whale gingerly settled back at the table and watched the lithe blond take a swig from an unbroken pitcher, “Well…”

Thorn kept one ear on her companion’s words while continuing to scan around the hall. She shifted her attention from group, to group, to group. Assessing. Surveying. Scheming. Almost finished with the room she found herself peering to make out a figure lost in the shadows of the far corner. Straining she could make out a flash of electric blue as the individual moved.

“Shut up!” Whale’s voice ground to a halt. “Is that who I think it is?” She jerked her head in the direction of the corner.

“Yes boss, that’s Hunter. She’s been here all three months.” His watery blue eyes were sorrowful, fortunately Thorn was looking away.

“Hmmm…” He didn’t like the sound of that.

######

Hunter had seen Thorn’s antics, who hadn’t in the crowded room? The moment the slender blond had walked into the room the air had crackled with tension. Unwilling to engage in any sort of sparing with the other women, whether it be verbal or physical, the younger woman had shrunk back into the darkness.

Tipping her head back and feeling the pleasant strain in her neck, she breathed out slowly before looking back down at the table. Taking her mug in hand she drew it towards her, staring into the inky depths. Lifting it and taking a shallow mouthful she swished the bitter liquid around before swallowing. Tapping the base of the glass on the table, keeping her eyes on Thorn, she let her mind travel back over the last three months…

Arriving at the arena had come as no surprise at the end of the protracted truck ride. Men and women spilled out, some resigned as she had been others shocked and devastated in equal measure. Hunter was no less upset but had realised somewhere during the journey that to show weakness now would be catastrophic for her. Standing poker straight, she assumed a once familiar pose of attention as she watched the large group of men and women walk out of the arena doors. A part of her couldn’t help thinking that there were some new faces amongst their ranks.

Unlike the wardens at the reprogramming centre, these slave wranglers enjoyed their work. They connected with their charges, looking them in the eye and if not giving comfort than at the very least extending some hope of humanity in this brutal world. A tall, curly haired woman walked towards the warrior with a purpose. Her attention was solely focused on the sturdy young woman who stood a little apart from the rest. As her colleagues gathered up the herd or sobbing, shouting people, she came toe to toe with her oldest charge.

“Welcome back, Hunter.” It was delivered with a smile which the smaller woman did not return.

“Wish I could say it’s good to be back but I’d be lying!” She fought to keep her tone light.

“You know you’ve missed us, all that soft living can’t possibly live up to the thrill of the chase. I know that I’ve missed you!” Wanting to embrace the taller woman as a friend, though aware that that would be seen as a real breach of protocol she gave her shoulder a little nudge instead.

“I’ve missed you too, Wrangler Rider.” It was a familiar game, not using the young woman’s first name even though she had been asked to.

“Afraid I have to slap this on you, for the time being,” left unspoken was the reality that she would have to be re-implanted with a chip to keep tabs on her.

Hunter lowered her shaggy, blond head to receive the collar around her neck. She felt the cool touch of metal on hot flesh as it was closed, the tiny click as the mechanism was closed. It was an old ritual that with more time never became familiar. Stretching to get accustomed to the weight, she met the compassionate eye of the woman who had been a part of her life for more than ten years.

That had been the first thing, once again growing accustomed to the shackles of an interned life. The collar around the neck that gave way to a chip that lightly thrummed under the skin. The routine of daily training and assessment, being told you’re not good enough. These were the things that had once been as every day as breathing. Now the burden lay so heavily on her that some days she felt she could be crushed.

The next blow had been far greater. In her time with Francesca the heiress had paid for her eyes to be replaced with something much more human than the augmented blue eyes that she had seen the world through while fighting. Alas this change was not to endure under this new regime. A month after her arrival at the arena, Dettore’s new ruling had really taken force and the blond realised that she would not be going home any time soon, if at all. The day that she had been brought into the operating room in the west wing of the building, that realisation had set in.

Lying on the operating table, local anaesthetic in her face, blue clad men standing all around her, a tear had trickled down her face. As her eyes were slowly removed, one by one, her world was thrown into darkness. Words floated around her as her mind went into a state of shock; images of Francesca whirled around her mind. Desperation made her cling to every crystal clear image of the taller woman, knowing in her heart that if she ever did see the other woman again she would never see her with human eyes.

“These babies are state of the art,” nasal tones broke into her dire thoughts.

“That they are, but so are these. Think we can sell these ones on? It would be an awful shame to just throw them away.” They were obviously talking about the eyes he had taken out as well as the new ones she was to receive.

Static suddenly burst to life inside her head. Screaming filled the room. Stunned, all she could do was lay still as a second burst ran through her head. If that was what happened when these appliances were just placed into her head, she braced herself for what would come with connection.

The high whining of power tools filled the room as a pair of hands took hold of her head, steadying her. It seemed like hours ticked by as the laborious process of attaching electronic equipment to her optical nerves took place. Their voices had gone quiet, a clear sign that this was no easy task.

Eventually the process was over and she could feel a bandage being wrapped around her head, accompanied by a dull ache. Rough hands jerked her up from the table and onto her feet. She was guided, non-too –gently, towards the door. Hearing the sounds of people going to and fro past the aperture she knew a warden would be there to take her back to her cell, the doctors didn’t stoop to that. Before letting go, the hand stopped her and brought her around, she imagined to face her temporary guide.

“Those eyes are the newest on the market with a lot of features. You need to take care of them, you understand?” Long accustomed to the patronising tines of these professionals, Hunter nodded and waited for him to go on. “I know you can read, so the manual will be in your room, study it. You will be unable to use them for three days; do not take the bandage off yourself. You will be returned here then and we will give you a demonstration after which the manual will come in to play.” Finally done she felt herself spun around and then another pair of hands was on her, guiding her down the corridor...

That had been eight weeks ago and the eyes were bedded in and working well, as far as she could tell. Almost unconsciously she scanned the room from her isolated position, viewing the world through eyes that were far more than human. Like her old eyes these were the same startling blue colour, lacking either pupil or white. That was where the comparison finished. Her new perspective was sharper, everything was much more defined. They allowed her to target and sight her target with infinite precision. The world was saturated in colour, much more like traditional vision than before but still not normal. She could also switch into different modes with a simple twitch of a muscle, cycling from infra-red to night vision. It was an asset under the circumstances.

Of its own accord her hand wandered up to her head and scratched through her hair. That had been another part of her return to form. Though not now owned by the same company as before, she had soon leaned that her contract had been confiscated from the Prince family and handed over to Poison Breweries. They wanted to cash in on her brand and add it to her own. Hence her eyes colour and her hair had soon followed. Shaggy blond locks had been sheered, barely making an inch all over, though the front was a little longer. It was died the most shocking shade of blue; eye-catching to say the least. Hunter avoided looking into mirrors for fear that she would lose herself deeper into this world, drifting further and further from the woman she lowed, if she acknowledged the change in herself.

The breweries final act had been to have a new tattoo placed on her skin. It was huge and it had impact. A giant snake now coiled its way up her lower leg. Its tail started at the base of her toes coiling around and around her ankle and up to her knee. Its coils were muscular and the scales intricate. Unlike her other marks the snake was painted vividly in colour. Once it reached her thigh, the head appeared and seemed to be striking from the front of her leg; teeth bared and dripping venom from its horned and vicious visage. Even she had been impressed by its realism and its intimidating air. Not that she needed to look much more intimidating but every little helped.

Deciding to cut out while she still could; the stocky warrior made her way to the huge doors at the end of the room which held the gladiator’s quarters. She was under no illusion that she was still considered a top contender. Having kept her ears open while she was at practice sessions or being adorned with these new markings, she knew exactly what the wardens, training and other slaves thought of her. Gone soft, they’d say; looks good but got no stamina, they’d say. It was fine by her. They were right, to a point, she was softer. She no longer craved the violence. Her edge was noticeably missing. However, it was never a bad thing to be underestimated, so she had worked to cultivate the image, being lack lustre at practice and seeming to tire easily. She had yet to have her first public fight but when she did, it would be a surprise!

######

Thorn had watched the other woman toy distractedly with her close cropped hair. Watched her absently reach down and rub at her pant covered leg, bringing her more into the light of the room. She looked much the same as Thorn remembered in their years as stable mates. They had never been friends yet something about the compact fighter had always fascinated her. Not to mention the fact that they were evenly matched in a fight, making the other the best possible opposition. She relished the chance to fight again with the exalted Hunter.

Fixing the sullenly silent Whale with a beaming smile, batting pale lashes she could see him swallow nervously. “Ah, Whale, I think its time we went to see the others, don’t you?” The oddly matched duo headed for the door.

Thorn would be sure to look in on the mysterious Hunter tomorrow. After all, inquiring minds wanted to know; what was the deal with the singer? A wicked laugh burst forth, scaring the large man out of his skin and making him wish that he had never seen the demented blond that night.


	2. Chapter 2

Gray plastic flew through the air and shattered as it hit the wall, accompanied by a growl. Frustration filled the room as tired eyes travelled to the mess now strewn across the floor. Pushing away from the desk, he padded over to collect shards of plastic into his palm. Back to the door, as he crouched to clean up the mess, he heard the door being opened.

“Is everything all right, Nat?” Francesca’s voice was cautious, not used to seeing her older brother out of his element.

“Yeah, Princess, I just realised that my mouse doesn’t bounce,” straightening, he made his way to deposit the contents of his palm into the trash can.

“And what, may I ask, prompted you to have this little epiphany?” Gliding over the carpet, she perched on the edge of the desk, glancing at the piles of files that littered it.

“It was that or put my fist through the damn computer screen!” His tone clearly revealed his agitation.

“Big brother, I know what you’re doing for me; for us, but you can’t let it eat you up.” The burley man had retaken his seat and the young woman took his hand.

“I’m not gonna hurt myself, Princess. Its just so hard to get straight answers from these people! Its worse than business!” Nathaniel was not a man used to getting the run around. “Then I keep thinking about Hunter and you…”

“I’m holding my own Nat.” Placing a soft kiss on her brother’s cheek she stood, ready to leave. “As for Hunter… I’m taking it as a good sin that she hasn’t been in a bout yet. Maybe she’s cleaning hose somewhere,” a wane smile told him all he needed to know as he watched his sister go. Picking up the phone on his desk he called his secretary.

“Angie, I need a new mouse!”

******

The television blared in the other room as Francesca read through her itinerary for the following day. Her conversation with her usually unflappable older brother, earlier that day, had shaken the young woman causing her to retreat into the rituals she had perfected over the last three months; self distraction. Every moment was filled with work, planning or the children. Sanity was only maintained by not thinking about Hunter, far away and suffering unknown brutalities. The one small mercy in all of this was the older woman’s continuing absence from the broadcast ‘sport’. She was not naïve enough to imagine that that was a situation that could last.

Growling in frustration, she forced her mind to focus back on the dazzlingly white sheet of paper in front of her, marred by the harsh black strokes of Rashid’s pen. He was a real traditionalist when he came to putting down thoughts and ideas, one of a very few who still balked at the idea of consigning his thoughts to a heartless monitor. He had an oft maligned secretary who would input his scrawl into a more professional format. Francesca received the fully unedited, un-sanitised version, straight from the man himself. The youthful PR man spent more and more time at the mansion, almost hanging off of the heiress, who was under no illusion as to why. He wanted her, and not just her name. His interest had been clear even before Hunter’s repatriation, though tempered because of it; now he was actively pursuing her. It shamed her to admit that she was allowing him to believe that they were a possibility. It sat well in the public eye and God knew the family needed the good press.

In the days and weeks following Dettore’s edict the Prince family had come under ever increasing scrutiny. Francesca’s very public ‘outing’ had led the public and media alike to blame them and those like them for the recall of slaves. Even though Francesca had pretty well side stepped the accusations about her relationship with Hunter, they were an easy target; the rumours still fresh in the collective minds of the nation. They had been cited as the idle rich, wilfully setting slaves free without thought to the implications for the hard working citizens whose lives they may endanger. As an emblem they had been a powerful tool for Dettore, however short lived. Thanks to the genius of both her agent, PR man and her father’s contacts they had soon put into motion a campaign for compensation for those who had lost slaves and would not be getting them back. With Darla and Sal working tirelessly to show that they were on the side of the average man, the families fortunes had quickly righted themselves. In three short months they had gone from pariahs to saints. Mankind really were a fickle bunch.

Seeing the futility of planning for tomorrow she instead turned her attention to getting the children ready for bed. Disposing of the document into the draw of her desk she wandered into the adjoining family room, just in time to see Terry launch himself off the sofa and into his younger sister. Her indignant squeal was followed by the slap of flesh on flesh. Rolling blue eyes, perversely pleased that, for the most part, the children seemed unaffected by her malaise she waded into the confrontation.

“Ahem!” Three heads snapped up, brown eyes fixing on her. The small girl sitting with a colouring book in front of the TV shook her head in consternation and turned back to liberally applying colour to the page. Smiling indulgently, though briefly, at her youngest child Francesca was in full mom mode as she turned but to the other two, now fully disentangled and standing shame faced before her. “Would somebody like to tell me what that little spectacle was all about?”

Two tousled heads bowed as toes worried the carpet, sometimes this was the hardest part of being a parent…disciplining them without cracking a smile! The pair of them looked so woeful, with Rochelle worrying her bottom lip with her teeth and Terry tugging nervously at his ear. Finally, Terry raised his big, sad eyes, ready to take the fall.

“Shelly was annoying me mom, she kept making fun of me so I jumped on her!” Ah, child logic.

“Shelly, what were you saying to your brother?” 

“Um…” without raising her head the girl started to cry big, fat tears. “I was making fun of his friend Gloria and saying she was his g…g…girlfriend.” Pitiful little sobs came from her as she tried to dodge punishment. “Then he jumped on me!” She couldn’t leave that out.

Raising her hand to her chin, Francesca made a great show of pondering her decision. She was very aware of Rochelle shooting glances at her through her bangs. Tapping a tapered finger against her chin and pursing her lips in thought she drew out the children’s anticipation.

“I think we can all agree that you are both in the wrong here. Terry, you know better than to resort to violence. Your grandfather and I, even Hunter, have told you that is not the way to end a dispute,” using the gladiator’s name held a great deal of power over her son and she saw him nod soberly. “However, Shelly, you should not make fun of your brothers friends! You have male friends and he has female friends and that is how it should be. You shouldn’t take friendship for granted!

I want the pair of you to go and change for bed. I will be into your rooms in ten minutes. There will be no bedtime story for either of you for the next week and no friends will be allowed back to the house either.” Seeing that both children were ready to protest she slashed her hand through the air in a gesture of finality, “It could be a week, so I suggest you do as you are told! You have ten minutes!” Realising their mother’ seriousness the siblings bolted from the room, leaving the brunette alone with her youngest child.

“How you doing there, sweetie?” Walking towards the sofa she sat down with Rebecca at her feet.

“Hello mommy, do you like my picture?” She held up the page she had been so diligently filling with colour for her mother’s inspection.

“It looks wonderful, Becca. Maybe we could put it up in my office?” Running her hand over the child’s head she felt it shake. “Where would you like me to put it then?”

“Couldn’t we send it to Hunter? To show her we are thinking ‘bout her and so that she can look at something to remind her of us. She can bring it back with her when she comes home.” The hopefulness that shone in the child’s eyes was nearly her undoing; not wanting to cry in front of her daughter she knew she had to leave the room, fast.

“I tell you what, Becca, let me go and sort out your brother and sister and then we can talk about this. Lucky you, you get to stay up late!” A wide grin of triumph covered the cherubic face as she turned back to her colouring.

Slipping from the room and moving down the hall she fell against a wall and felt the tears come. As heartbreaking as her lovers absence was she could deal with it fairly well but when the children brought it up it was her undoing. Becca especially idolised the slave and the blonde’s disappearance had really hit her hard. The children didn’t really understand the recall or the politics so instead they simply thought that Hunter was on a mission and would just turn up on the doorstep one day. 

Pulling herself together, wiping away the tears she strolled up the stairs to check on her two chastised children. A little less than five minutes later, with both children firmly admonished and tucked into bed with a kiss, she re-entered the family room. Switching off the TV, she pulled the crayons from her daughters hands and lifted her onto her lap on the couch.

Settling into the familiar position for one of their talks, electric blue met liquid brown. Becca was such an intent and serious child, so different to her siblings. She was adorable and funny, enjoying to play as much as the next seven year old but she lack the frivolity and spontaneity of her twin. 

“Becca, sweetie, I don’t have an address for Hunter right now, so it would be very hard to send her your picture.” It almost felt like a physical blow to have to lie to her children like this, she knew exactly where her sweetheart was held and wished she didn’t. “Her mission is very important to the people employing her and so she has to keep a lot of things secret. I know that she loves us all and misses us as much,” here she paused, “no she misses us more than we miss her because at least we have each other. I tell you what, I’ll put that picture away safely when you’ve finished and we can give it to her when she does come home.” This seemed to satisfy the little girl as she snuggled more deeply into her mothers shoulder, eyes heavy.

“Can I have a story mommy?” Her voice was very small as she fought sleep.

“Of course you can my darling. How about we go up and get you ready for bed and I will read you a story in my room so that we don’t wake your sister up.” Rising off the sofa, her arms filled with child she moved to the stairs after nudging the light off.

“Can I sleep with you tonight mommy?” 

“I don’t see why not.” The pair continued upstairs and towards the bathroom, Francesca trying to ignore the two pairs of eyes peeking at them from rooms that should have contained sleeping children. “I should be able to reward one of my children for being good!” She emphasised the last two words and saw the shadows disappear from the doorways and, hopefully, back into their own beds.

********

Wiping her mouth with a napkin, she folded it and placed it back on the table as the waitress whisked away their dishes. Taking the opportunity provided by the lull in conversation created by the servers presence, she studied her companion. Today Mungo was looking a lot more sober than usual. This was the way of their clandestine meetings, as clandestine as two music stars could be in public. Mungo would wear low key suits as would she, meeting in exclusive restaurants in out of the way nooks; never arriving or leaving together. It was like espionage.

Soon after the recall the rapper had approached her with a proposition. He and a number of other high, and not so high, profile individuals were working together with the abolitionists in an effort to not only stop the edict but also completely nullify slavery. At present their affiliation with the movement was a closely guarded secret. They would be revealed but only when it would be most beneficial to the cause, no point in pulling out your big guns before you have any real ammunition.

“Any news?” It had taken the big man this long to pluck up the courage to bring up the sore subject.

“No…No news is good news, I guess.” It was too flip, too well practiced to fool the Grammy winner.

“I know she hasn’t been in any bouts yet, in fact I haven’t heard word one about her since she was taken away. You haven’t been able to get any information at all?” Reaching over with one large hand he wrapped it around her wrist in a gesture of comfort.

“Well, I know where she is and that’s all. Nat is trying to get more information which is nigh on impossible. It has to be so covert…We need to seem so disinterested…” She trailed off in frustration.

“I know that this is killing you but you’re dealing with it the right way Princess,” it hadn’t taken much for the rapper to adopt the familial nick name. “I know being seen with Rashid isn’t a dream for you but the more you can be photographed as the ‘hot new couple’ the more we are allaying suspicion. The sooner you get back completely into the bosom of the public, the sooner you can be out spreading the word and starting down the path to getting you real love back. It takes a lot of heart to make those sacrifices.” 

Taking the hand still on her arm she squeezed to show she appreciated his words. Mungo tried to lighten the mood, “Do you want to know anything more than I’ve told you today? I know its all James Bond hush-hush, need to know stuff…I could bend the rules for you.”

“No need Mungo. I am intrigued by Lukas’ offer to meet with us. What about Spencer?” Emily Lukas was the leading emancipation campaigner and a regular face on Dateline and a myriad of other news shows. She was the palatable face of a still controversial movement. Adrian Spencer was not; where Lukas fought with words Spencer simply fought. He was winning no popularity contests.

“Spencer is a last resort. We’ll win more people over with words than with violence. I’ll make a date with Lukas and let you know.”

“This is going to be a long road, isn’t it my friend?” He didn’t respond, he didn’t have to. It was only going to get worse before it got better.


	3. Chapter 3

Sweat; pools of it in the dust. Sweat; the stench of stale and fresh filling the air. Sweat; coating skin and glistening in the harsh light. Sweat; so sad when your life can be defined by it.

Shaking her head roughly, a heavy spray flew from her head as Hunter tried to get her mind back on track. Lazer eyes honed in on her sparing partner who looked about ready to throw in the towel. He was a very young, very fit man wholly unused to fighting. Under the harsh sun, in the centre of the grounds, after hours of gruelling drills no amount of muscle will keep you sanding. Stamina separated the men from the boys here. She has lots and, apparently, he had none.

Four months had now passed since her incarceration and as yet all she had done was train. Initially they had been concerned about the repatriated former gladiators, especially those who had been ‘stars’. The concern had been that they would have gone soft, no longer hardened or in a training regime, unfit for the battle ground. It had, indeed, been true of many who had been indulged and treated like highly trained pets, wheeled out to functions to impress before being freed after owners tired of them or rethought their ideals. The fight coordinators could not afford embarrassments, much as they could little afford the occasional deaths of their prized fighters. Hunter and others, like Thorn, who had kept up their conditioning, had soon proved that they would be anything but a liability. However, neither Hunter, nor her unhinged stable-mate, had been used in a broadcast yet. It wasn’t skill that concerned their trainers, it was desire…one had far too much and the other seemed to have none. For now it suited Hunter to sit back and be a training tool, it would be all too easy to allow herself to die in a real fight and as yet she could not do that to Francesca while there was still a glimmer of hope.

Watching the youth gasping before her finally succumb, collapsing gracelessly into the dirt, she hoped for his sake hat he would not be fighting anytime soon. Wheezing breaths sent tiny dust clouds up around his face where sweat had yet to make minute mud puddles. She noticed his eyes roll back into his head and rolled her own in derision. Sucking her teeth in exasperation, she help up her hand; four fingers splayed, thumb tucked into her palm. It was a simple signal that alerted the wranglers to a problem without stopping the drilling. They would not automatically approach a downed slave as individuals were often knocked down by their partners.

Jogging feet navigated the maze of writhing bodies and quickly came to a halt over the sprawled figure. It wasn’t Rider, mores the pity, but Pinket wasn’t too bad, for a wrangler.

“Problem, Warrior?” Pinket was one of those men whose voice was so low you had to strain to hear him, a sound that seemed to vibrate through you. It lent him a great deal of gravitas. “You know it’s not fair to flatten the newbies.”

“Ha! At least he could hold his head up if I had, Wrangler. I think he feinted, maybe too much sun…”

“You could be right,” he crouched down, noticing that the youth was no longer sweating, instead turning a dangerous shade of red and gasping for air. “Looks like it could be heat stroke. Good call Hunter.” Standing he motioned for two of the site paramedics who came hurtling over with a stretcher to scoop up the limp figure. “For how pricey that kid was he sure seems like a liability to me…Talking of expensive goods, you’re not exactly putting yourself out.” It wasn’t said harshly, she could see the question in his eyes. Like Rider, Pinket had known the gladiator for more than a decade; he could be cruel, they all could, Pinket was all about respect, though.

“Just taking me a while to get back in the groove, Wrangler.” In truth the fire that had blazed in her veins, the fire that made her a phenomenon had long since been extinguished by Francesca’s love. For years she had fought with only one thought on her mind, hatred for those who hurt Jordan. That had fuelled her rage and made her a thing of violence. Now she was less motivated, she knew how devastated Chess would be if she saw her on television; how terrified she would be if she saw her fight at her best. In training she fought skilfully, proving to be a real asset to the wranglers in their training of the newer fighters. Unfortunately that was not what the brewery were paying for. They wanted a high octane fight and soon!

“I’d say you’re in a rut, not a groove, Hunter. I think that we’ve spent too long letting you coast. How Rider has managed to keep you out of the contests I don’t know. You’re going in this weekend, be ready!” His target was to motivate her, as much as it was to keep Poison appeased. Casting his eyes around the practice field he noticed Thorn, standing over a downed woman who appeared to be cowering at her feet. “Go and join up with Thorn,” he noticed her eyes widen and her mouth open to protest, “she’s the only one out here at your calibre. I suggest you two go at it and remember that you’re not pets anymore, you’re wild.”

Knowing that she would be unable to sway him the blue haired woman dragged her feet as she made her way over to the blonde. Reaching the two combatants, well really one combatant and one victim, the short woman placed her hand on the cowering forms shoulder. The prone woman flinched at the touch before realising it wasn’t her partner about to deliver another series of punishing blows. Hunter jerked her head in the direction of the wrangler, the woman gratefully scrambled to her feet and moved away, leaving the two most formidable warriors on the field to face off against each other.

Thorn yawned theatrically, worrying at her thumb nail as she took her opportunity to observe the enigma that stood before her. In the weeks that she had spent back in the facility she had scrutinised the blue warrior but been unable to get close to her. She certainly is blue, the thought made Thorn snigger, the eyes and hair are like an all in one mood ring! The blonde couldn’t wait to get inside of the other woman’s head…and mess with it just a little. Ok, mess with it a lot. There was something about the star fighter that had long fascinated the lithe woman. Maybe it was the fact that she had never been a part of the other woman’s ‘inner circle’, instead always held at arms length. She planned to remedy that this time. Planned to make Hunter dependant on her as she had been dependant on Shep.

As Thorn studied Hunter; Hunter studied Thorn. Dressed, as they were, in identical clothing it was easy to assess her opponent. Skin tight Lycra sports bra and shorts moulded to mid-thigh, a warriors uniform (the men only clad in the shorts), left little to the imagination. Neither sex wore shoes, another in a long line of measures to prevent serious injury when they weren’t being filmed. Thorn was all sharp angles and jagged edges; muscles were obvious not because of their size, as Hunter’s were, instead they were obvious because of the absence of fat anywhere on her body. High metabolism mixed with near constant motion burned up far more calories than she could consume. Long, deceptively fragile limbs belied the reality that this woman could choke the life out of you. Slightly taller than Hunter, it was none of these physical traits that made her a feared foe. It was in her mind that the danger dwelled; fearless, cruel and deranged; no amount of punishment could dissuade her from pounding you into a pulp. She would fight to her last breath and had beaten the blue gladiator in the ring. She had been repaid in kind, the women were (physically at least) an evenly matched pair.

“Hello Sweet-pea!” Voice saccharinely sing-song, the hand that waved writhed like the parody of a spider crawling. “I think you’ve been avoiding me, little girl blue.” Lip jutting forward in a pout even as those same lips tried to smirk made her face look like a twisted mask of madness. All her movements were twisted, she writhed and twitched constantly, a very unsettling an unpredictable facet of her personality.

Electric eyes locked with brown as Hunter worked to keep her face passive. Thorn was able to unsettle her in a way that nobody else ever had and letting the unstable woman know that would lend her dangerous power. “Not avoiding you Thorn, keeping to my self, that’s all.” Peering over the slender shoulder of the woman in front of her she saw one of the wranglers indicating that they were time wasting. “Why don’t we…” gesturing she made it clear that they should spar.

“Ohh, you’re still not one for chatting are you, lover?” Cackling laughter pierced the air as she launched herself at the shorter woman with lethal intent.

Anticipating this, Hunter’s feet had already been firmly planted, Thorn hit a wall of muscle rather than bowling her over as she would have with a less experienced fighter. Lightening fast a forehead cracked against a nose with shattering force. A second blow caught behind the brawny woman’s ear sending her staggering back. Hunter had forgotten just how fast the slight woman was. Needing to regroup she vaulted aside; now Thorn was left stumbling as she succumbed to her own momentum.

For the first time since her arriving back, the tattooed gladiator felt her blood begin to boil. The fire of battle ignited, albeit dimly. She may not want to fight but she was nobodies punching bag. Blood coating her lips and chin, she hawked in to the dirt, leaving a crimson stain spreading in the dust. Sporting her own maniacal grin she flew at her nemesis as Thorn launched another attack.

Blows rained down with purpose. Kicks and punches assailed each woman. Strikes landed with satisfying smacks that rang out over all the other sounds of practice. Blood now liberally covered the ground around them, creating their own fighting circle. Springing forward Hunter saw her advantage and seized it. Thick arms imprisoned a slender throat and squeezed. Tangled bodies fell to the ground as Thorn started to see spots; the larger frame covered her own. Tapered fingers clawed at a bulging forearm leaving ruby track in their wake. The unrelenting pressure did not ease an inch.

Fast losing the battle with consciousness Thorn took one last ditch chance for victory. Going suddenly limp the arm around her loosened fractionally, giving her enough of an opening to buck her head back and once again hit her assailants nose. This time a wet squelch was the payout. The arms remained though the warrior was stunned allowing the blond to get her legs beneath her and spring up, dislodging her human blanket. Scrambling to her feet, Thorn once again stood facing Hunter. Both women were breathing heavily and covered in growing bruises and blood. Noticing, for the first time, the crowd of onlookers that had surrounded then the blonde growled low in her throat, angered that she may yet be humiliated.

Screaming like a thing possessed she charged at Hunter. Hunter dodged out of her way, pivoting to grasp the lighter woman around the waist. Swinging the smaller frame, using the power of her own charge to lift her, Hunter them slammed her partner into the ground. Hitting the ground caused pain to radiate up Thorns spine, leaving her writhing in pain. Vomit exploded out of her mouth as the pain radiated through her. Hunter, disgusted by the pungent excretion prepared to end it, elbow poised at the other woman’s back, ready to land a heavy blow when…  
“Enough!” The boom of the voice was matched by the crack of a gunshot fired into the air. Onlookers quickly scurried off, leaving the two women alone, almost locked into their final position. They looked like a statue of success and defeat. Heavy breaths filled they air as they remained frozen on the floor, far too caught up in the heat of battle to completely give up now.

Large hands tore the women apart; two men held Hunter, one at either side with her arms forced into the small of her back to stop her lunging forward, though how successful they would be at holding her back was not something they wanted to test. Thorn was dragged to her feet, legs still slightly weak and held up by one wrangler. Unwilling to trust either of these dangerous and charged up creates lose with the paramedics, Pinket (who had joined the group after supervising the roundup of the rest of the slaves) led them off of the field and towards the infirmary. As yet they had yet to utter a word.

Once in the infirmary, both women were led to beds and shackled by one wrist to the underside of the bed using the built in cuff. Pinket remained as the other three wranglers went back to their duties. Looking between the women, who had been placed in beds side by side, he decided that the distance between them was great enough to prevent further injury and went in search of a doctor. Left alone, Hunter took the time to compose herself. The red haze that engulfed her during battle had lifted leaving her both elated and incredibly guilty about what had transpired. Puffing out a large breath she attempted to get her heart rate down to something resembling normal as she felt Thorn’s eyes on her. Refusing to turn to meet that gaze just that, she instead visualised Francesca and tried to use that to help her calm. The problem was, that in visualising her childhood sweetheart, all she could see was disappointment in blue eyes and the guilt only increased.

Thorn had no such pangs. Elated and still very much fired up she wanted to continue to spar with her bed-mate, though now it would be verbal it would still do. She could see the mask-like cast to the other woman’s face and knew she would get little out of her right now. Resigning herself to boredom, at least momentarily, she took inventory of her body. Though Hunter may look worse for wear with her flattened nose and blackened eyes it was Thorn who had come out worse. Every muscle along her back was in spasm, her throat was swollen and her butt hurt!

Drumming her fingers on her thigh, brown eyes looked towards the door to see if a doctor was imminent. It looked like they might be waiting a while. Unable to keep quiet any longer she fixed her attention on her prey. “Nice to know you’ve still got it, blueberry!”

“What?” Turning distractedly to her right, she eyed the woman that only minutes before she had been hell bent on dominating. Much to her surprise the blonde was smiling, rather genuinely, and seemed to want a chat.

“I said you still have your edge,” shifting in an effort to gain a more comfortable position, she ended up laying on her side. “I’ve been watching you out there day after dull, boring day. I thought you’d been turned into a lapdog by your starlet…or maybe a sex toy?” The other woman didn’t even twitch at the inference and Thorn knew she would have to try a lot harder to get any information about that out of her neighbour. “Ok, look, you’ve just been going through the motions, practically training those green kids for the wranglers. That’s great and everything but you aren’t paid for that…hell you’re not paid. We’re trained monkeys, remember? The fighting, the crowd cheering our names! You can’t tell me that you don’t miss the thrill at least a little.” Seeing the blue head duck as if to demure, she pushed on. “I saw the look in your eyes out there. You were you again, you wanted to put me down and keep me there, why are you lying to yourself?” It was an honest inquiry.

“You wouldn’t understand, Thorn.” It wasn’t said cruelly, it was simply a fact that both women knew was true.

“Probably not, sweet-pea. What I do know, what I am absolutely fuckin’ certain of, is that you ain’t going back…Nobody here, right now, is ever going back. And, if you’re never going back, you have to get in the game or you’re going to be very dead out there.” Again she didn’t let the other woman interject. “As mush as you might hate being back in this life, I don’t think you want to end it. You’re not the type.”

“They wouldn’t let me die out there even if I wanted to.” It was a truth that they all knew, yes occasionally a hapless gladiator fell foul and died in the ring but they were too precious a commodity to allow it to happen regularly. Nobody felt cheated if a fallen gladiator was out again to prove themselves the next week, the purpose of battle was defeat not death. Many were seriously injured, unable to fight again and were put out to stud; breeding stock. “Maybe if it was sweeps.” They shared a laugh, it was an urban myth in the stables that they pedalled to the newbies to increase their fear. It made life more interesting.

Before Thorn could go on a white coated doctor swept into the room. In the presence of the health care professional, the pair went silent. Although the wranglers liked and, in most cases, respected their charges the doctors and other workers in the facility viewed them as pieces of meat. Working on these particular slaves was a lucrative position and one where experimentation was encouraged, so long as it would not damage the goods. He moved first to the more obviously injured woman.

********

Cruising along the brightly lit street in the back of the limousine Francesca admired the neon displays that were able to turn night into day. On her way to the premiere she tried to distract herself. The last red carpet event she had attended had been with Rhani and had not ended well, in fact it had been the beginning of the spiral down into darkness that she now felt trapped in. Shifting in her seat she tried not to wrinkle the elaborate gown she wore. In the interests of keeping up her façade, she was meeting Rashid at the premier. He had wanted to accompany her in the car, she had refused. The place by her side, in the car and on the carpet, was Hunter’s so she made some sacrifices, yet could not go all the way.

Seeing the venue draw closer she arranged herself, accessories firmly in place and put on her best showbiz smile. The limo slowed to a smooth stop at the end of the red carpet and she could see Raz waiting for her to alight. The concierge of the event smoothly opened the door and held out his arm to help her make a smooth exit and a stunning entrance. Straightening from the confines of the car, she was almost blinded by the flashes of the paparazzi. Stepping forward to give the best angles of her dress, she felt the PR man move to her side and wrap his arm possessively around her waist. The move made her edgy, propriety dictated that she could not shrug him off and in fact needed to behave as though she welcomed his advances even though she loathed them. More bulbs flashed as the press tried to get the best shot of this hot new couple.

On the move down the carpet, allowing the next car to drop its passengers, they moved to the area where the journalists clamoured for a sound-bite, camera flashes following them all the way. Queries about her dress and vacuous questions about her expectations of the film floated out to her from the gaggle of microphone wielding men and women. Walking further down the throng, the inevitable questions about her and Rashid’s relationship were hurled at them.

“We’re very happy.”

“It’s so exciting to be in a new relationship.”

“We’ve known each other for years.”

“No; I think it’s a bit early to be thinking about that.”

“It’s a lot of fun.” These were just some of the stoke answers to enquiries that had been fired at her time and time again, she almost didn’t need to hear the correspondents words in order to wheel out more of the same.

Almost at the doors that would shield them from the prying eyes and inane chatter, she felt Rashid’s arm suddenly stiffen around her. Suddenly she found herself off balance as he spun her into his body, pulling her closer so that they were chest to chest. Dazed by the unexpected act, all she wanted to do was pull away indignantly the presence of so many prying eyes prevented that. Then he was kissing her deeply and she had to put her arms around him; she felt the gasp of dozens of people, more than heard it as each camera man and photographer vied to get the best view of this, their ‘first’ kiss on film. If only they knew it was their first kiss, period!

Then it was over and, waving gaily at the gawping throng, they passed through the doors into the relative privacy of the foyer, Francesca instantly breaking away from the unwanted embrace. Glowering, she pulled him forcefully into an out of the way alcove and forcing him to look at her. Rashid’s face was grimly set as he looked her in the eye, waiting for what he knew was inevitable when he made the move outside.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Even hidden as they were raised voices would be a huge mistake, instead her voice was a harsh whisper.

“I’m making you chose! I know what you’ve been doing, using me as some sort of shield. I love you Francesca but I will not let you play with me like this.” Reaching up he tries to rest a hand on her shoulder, only to have it shrugged away. As his arm fell dejectedly back to his side he ploughed on, “Hunter is gone! Even if slavery is repealed it will be years, maybe decades. Live now, with me!” Blue eyes remained stony. “I won’t be here forever, Princess,” the name was snarled.

The slap was not entirely unexpected though the force behind it was. Hand raised to rub his reddening cheek he was left to stare after the rapidly retreating finger as she disappeared from view in a swirl of crimson velvet. Tactical error, my boy tactical error, Rashid couldn’t help but agree with the voice in his head.

********

“I can’t quite put my finger on it but there’s something different about you!” Laughing at her own attempt at humour, Thorn continued to taunt her now regular sparring partner.

Indeed there was something different about the shorter woman, both physically and psychologically. Her nose, shattered by the woman in front of her, had been set but had not healed well. It was now noticeably flatter and crooked, although her breathing had not been affected. She also seemed more motivated to fight and with a looming televised battle only two days away it was no bad thing. There was a growing level of camaraderie between her and the blonde which had never existed before. She remained wary of the slim woman, as one would be wary of a wild animal, however they were spending increasingly more time with each other over the course of the week.

No punishment had been meted out after their fracas which had surprised both of them. Thorn had figured that they were pleased with her for goading the Poison property into real volatility. They were obviously pleased with Hunter for showing some of the old spark. That isn’t to say that they had been rewarded either. Patched up and sent back out to their normal routine, it was still more than either had expected three days before.

“Yuck it up loon,” There was an ease between them now. Thorn hadn’t tried to ask too many prying questions and was acting decidedly more normal. The humanitarian part of the blue woman wondered if her companion had simply needed a friend she could not bully to make her a little more stable. She could have been deluding herself, it helped her to feel that she was helping somebody else.

The two formidable gladiators would both be fighting at the weekend, it would be Hunter’s first bout, though Thorn was already an old hand again. They would have no idea who they would fight on the day, the only real certainty was that they wouldn’t be battling each other. As only a handful of the old guard, they were being carefully kept apart in the fights to attract more viewers for longer. They had also been scattered to many different facilities, Whale and many other members of Thorn’s former group had been shipped out, even those who had not been out in the world. It was a shake up of the format to intrigue the home audience.

Grappling together they scrabbled in the dirt but since the incident had been careful not to get too carried away. Thorn loved being paired with the more muscular woman as it meant that she could fight harder with knocking her out and watching her whimper. Hunter was confident in their confrontations as she too knew that it was far more difficult to hurt her newly assigned partner.

The gong signalling the end of the session rang out and the combatants broke up. The crush of bodies moved through the large doors, headed towards the mess hall and a much needed lunch break. Sitting at one of the long lunch tables, Hunter patiently waited her turn to get her tray of food. Minutes passed before it was her tables turn. Walking between tables, she got to the line and received her perfectly balanced, nutritionally valuable and frankly bland meal. On her way back she noticed a discarded newspaper laying on the floor. Unable to resist the opportunity to connect with the real world she surreptitiously snatched it up, being careful not to be seen.

Back on her bench she unfolded the paper on her lap, beneath the lip of the table. Carefully she flicked through the pages; there it was, the dagger through her heart! In full colour, covering an entire page was Francesca, locked in an embrace and a kiss with that damn PR letch! Blood pounded in her ears. Anger flowed through her, bubbling towards the surface. Francesca had betrayed her! How could she after everything? The words on the page blurred until…

Screaming in rage she surged from the bench and launched the table into the air. Men and women all around her dived away from the heavy wood as it came crashing back to the ground. Wranglers sped towards her from every side of the room, cattle prods at the ready.

Snapping straight as a board, the first burst of electricity shot between her shoulder blades. A myriad of others followed and, as she lost consciousness, her last sight was Thorn’s smirk as she reached to pick up the paper that had fluttered to the floor.


End file.
